He's thought about what it would be like, late at night with the curtains drawn around his bed and his underwear shoved down his thighs. He couldn't have imagined, though, how easily Jesper's body yields to him, and at the same time, how tightly his heat squeezes his cock. As he pushes in deeper at Jesper's urging, his panting gathers into moaning.

The heady praise frees Wilhelm up to focus on spoiling Jesper with as much pleasure as he can, instead of worrying about his performance. Not that his thoughts carry much substance anyway, all sea form swirling on the rolling waves of his body as he rocks his hips in a tentative rhythm. Impulse does all his thinking for him. Pour kisses against Jesper's throat. Run a hand down his side, trace the muscles in his thigh. Flutter fingers over his cock. Touch, and touch, and touch him. Breathe him in.

"Jes," he groans, bumping their foreheads together. Jesper's eyes are so fucking pretty, like the smooth bits of glass you find on the beach.

For as raw as his movements are, there's an earnestness in every one that's sweet. He likes being with Jesper, and he wants him to know that.